Page 1 of Word to the Wise
1
Mason
There’s no point inrunning.
New city.
New people.
The same demons rage around inside me.
I thought a fresh start was what I needed. But as I turn the lock on the Twisted Roses front door and take a step back, I’m not sure what I’m doing here.
The dancing skeletons decorating the front window of the tattoo parlor laugh at me. The neon red closed sign blinks at me like a warning. When I came to Los Angeles, all I wanted to do was disappear. To erase my past—to be someone better.
So why doesn’t it feel like it’s working?
Different city. But I’m still the same person with rot crawling through him.
Commotion comes from the nightclub that sits next to the tattoo parlor, and I look over to see a group of girls in miniskirts and high heels giggling as they walk through the door. I’m tempted to follow them. To do the one thing I’m good at and forget my problems.
It would be easier.
Whether it’s booze, pot, or women, I’m good at drowning shit out.
Just enough to dull the edge, even if I still inevitably always end up alone. Wondering what piece of myself I lost this time. Wondering how many more it’s going to take before I’m no longer strong enough to fight off the beasts festering beneath the surface.
It would be easy to walk the few steps to Incinerate and get lost between a nice pair of legs. Then, I could forget what I should actually be doing with my life.
If I made smarter decisions and found healthier outlets, I might finally get my head on straight. But I’m not known for making good decisions, and my skin itches with whatever unease has been brewing in the air all day.
Still, something pulls me in the opposite direction of the club.
Gut instinct.
Self-preservation.
Maybe I’m just fucking tired.
I walk to the gate beside the tattoo shop and unlock it to climb the steps to the apartment above.
It’s quiet now that Sage and Lyla moved out, and I wish that was a good thing. But even if I understand them moving to the Twisted Kings compound now that Sage is the motorcycle club’s new vice president, I don’t like that it makes this place so empty.
Maybe I’ll get a roommate.
Is twenty-seven too old to have a roommate?
Do I care?
I can afford the place on my own with my income from the tattoo shop. And if it really came down to it, there’s plenty of family blood money I’ve been avoiding. Still, having someone else hanging around would be nice. Then I wouldn’t have so much time to spend inside my head.
Stepping into the apartment, I set my keys down on the table inside the door. The clatter of metal on wood echoes through the walls. Silence that begs my demons to come out and make some noise.
I make my way over to the refrigerator when my stomach rumbles. It’s essentially empty unless I feel like ketchup on bread, so I grab a beer instead.
My last session ran an hour longer than expected. I’d usually grab a burger or something quick before coming home. But right now, I just need to sit—to empty my mind.
Popping the cap off the beer, I hope it’ll do the trick.
